


Slippery Slope

by not_whelmed_yet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Space Robots, Coping, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Languages and Linguistics, Pre-War, caste system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 18:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11537964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_whelmed_yet/pseuds/not_whelmed_yet
Summary: I have no explanation for this fic. If you like the premise of Pre-war Rewind ending up ‘working for’ Rung and then them being friends + subverting the system together, you may enjoy this story.





	Slippery Slope

**BEFORE THE WAR**

“Froid, what is this?” Rung sent out an irritable memo along with an attached picture of the object that had appeared in his office overnight. It was a dark grey rectangle, maybe two thirds of his mass but less than waist high, with curved red lit panels. Whoever had put it in his office, and he was willing to bet anything it had been Froid, had put it right next to the office console, snugged up against the desk.

There was a short transmission delay, and then Froid wrote back, “I got you some more storage. You’re always complaining about not having enough console space for all your patient records. Well, voila! Was stopping by a Functionist center and they had a memory stick up for contract. My treat.”

Rung unfolded his chair and sat down, running through a series of measured venting exercises to get his emotions under control. Froid hopefully did not know about his past with the functionists. Froid did not know how much he hated surprises, and also gifts. There was no need to snap at him for not knowing things. “In the future, I’d much prefer if you did not surprise me with such…large presents. I would not have picked up a disposable for my patient records when I could have just hired an assistant, a real assistant, to sort through and clean out my outdated records.”

“Well, you can always just drop it back off with the Functionists,” Froid wrote back. “It was cheap, don’t feel obligated. But either way, I don’t want to hear about your data storage problem next time we’re at a conference. It was getting tiresome. I’m sorry, I have a client meeting soon, I’ll have to let you go.”

“Of course. Thank you for the gift,” Rung said perfunctorily, breaking off the channel.

He stepped back to look at his new acquisition. He didn’t know much about disposables, they didn’t come up much in a clinical setting. There were a few of the research scientists who needed extra data storage, so they probably had a few. He knew they were Cybertronians with limited processing abilities, incapable of actual speech or complex thought and sensation. The Functionists minded their care until they could find a citizen willing to take on a disposable’s keeping. The Functionists…ugh. He shivered. There was no way he was ever returning this drone to a work center himself. No way.

Given that, he was just going to have to figure out care and keeping and make due without that assistant he’d been wanting until the next university pay raise. It had been a tight budget he’d worked out to afford an assistant’s wages along with his own rent, union dues and energon. Ah well, he would simply adapt.

He had a client appointment himself in a few hours but had intended to spend the morning organizing paperwork. Instead, he spent it researching drone handling and communication. A few articles in, he felt comfortable enough to give it a go.

He tapped lightly on the side of the memory stick. “If you can understand me, please transform back into root mode,” he said. Drones were supposed to be able to follow simple verbal commands.

There was no response at first and Rung frowned. He had a habit of being overly loquacious, maybe the wording of that command had been too complex? But how would you say that more simply? Then, with the uncomfortable sound of metal scraping on metal, the box began to inch itself apart. The base separated into two legs, which swiveled apart to support the rest of the bot as the arms creaked out of their compressed form, jammed and then slowly squeaked into position. The protective helm casing slid open last and a fairly normal, if very small, helm emerged. Blue optics, red faceplate, white framing. There must have been some dents in the plating to make the transformation sequence that long and drawn out, Rung decided with a frown.

The drone’s optics did not appear overly expressive, but his body language, though stiff, was. Maybe if you weren’t a therapist with years of experience watching patients cringe away from discussing things it would not have been apparent, but the bearing of the drone’s shoulders, the way he kept his chin down all screamed ‘uncomfortable, feeling threatened’. Which seemed the sort of emotional response disposables weren’t supposed to be able to have.

“Hello,” Rung said, in his most reassuring voice. “My name is Rung, of the Pious Pools. We’re going to be working together, so we need to figure out a way to communicate. I don’t suppose you speak Neo-Cybex?”

The thing trilled out a series of beeps and clicks that did not, to Rung’s ear, mean anything. Ah well, it had been worth a shot. He got out two datapads and set the displays such that one was lit and the other was dark, then held them out to the drone.

“Please point to the lit pad for yes and the dark pad for no. Do you understand?”

Hesitantly, the drone lifted its left arm to poke at the lit datapad. Rung felt a thrill. Communication at last.

“Okay. Good. I have an appointment to see to soon, so let’s focus on the essentials. Do you need to refuel?”

The drone froze in what Rung would have called terror on any of his normal patients. Then, slowly, it raised its other arm jerkily to point at the dark datapad.

Rung let it go. “I noticed you had trouble transforming earlier. Was that due to some mechanical malfunction?”

No.

“Really. Not some deformed plating?”

No.

“Not a lack of joint lubricant? Not a stuck activator cable?”

No.

Rung frowned. “Are you lying to me? That sort of noise during transformation must have some sort of cause.”

The mech reached out and began tapping on the dark datapad, leaving smudges of oil from its dirty fingerprints as it tapped frantically. Rung stepped back, pulling the datapads out of reach.

“Okay. I don’t think this conversation is going well. Let’s come back to it after my appointment. In the meantime, either sit down or change back into your alt, whichever you prefer.”

Apparently it preferred to sit. Rung went back to researching, changing his focus to transformation sequence errors for a bit before realizing it was nearly time for the appointment and then fumbling to find and review his patient notes. The little drone sat very quietly, completely motionless through all of that. It continued to sit that way when the patient arrived and throughout the appointment, then through the next appointment. When it was time for Rung to step out and visit the dispenser for refueling, it was still just sitting there, doing nothing.

It had said it didn’t _need_ to refuel, but maybe that would perk it up a bit. At the dispenser he paid for his usual cube and then examined the choices. There must have been someone in the building with a drone, because there were prices listed for drone-specific fuel. He ordered a dram and watched it fill the tiny cube. The color looked odd, a grey-mauve shade instead of normal Energon pink. He dipped his fingertip in the cube and raised it to his lips, setting his chemoreceptors to analyze.

He didn’t actually spit it out onto the floor, but it was a near thing. Primus, how did you make anything that was mostly Energon that disgusting? Except, now that he looked at the actual analysis results, it was barely 20% Energon. Most of the rest of it was fillers, and basic hydrocarbon fuel. That was pretty offensive, given its price per standard cube equivalent. He snagged an extra empty dram-cube to carry back with him.

“Hello! I don’t know if you needed to refuel yet, but I brought some anyway,” he said breezily as he stepped back inside. The drone looked over at him passively, but its eyes locked on the two cubes in his hands. “I wasn’t sure, this is my first time…encountering someone of your frame type. So I’ve brought you two fuel choices.”

He set the drone fuel cube down on the floor, then poured off a tiny bit of his own cube into the empty and set it along side. “Take whichever you prefer, there’s no wrong answer.” He rifled through his desk and found a straw for the little thing, then leaned back to drink and watch.

It handled the straw curiously, feeling out the curves and bends, then peering through each end. With one hand, it pushed the drone fuel’s cube further away. Then it opened up it’s faceplate, just a crack so he could see the narrow intake behind it. With a shaking hand, it slid one end of the straw into its intake and then lowered its whole body down to the tiny cube instead of picking it up, wrapping itself protectively around the cube of standard fuel so he couldn’t actually see it drink.

There was a short slurping sound of liquid under pressure and then a wordless hum of pleasure. The drone sat up sharply, straw still handling from it’s intake, and stared at Rung. Absently, it removed the straw and snapped its faceplate closed, still staring. The cube, he noted, was already empty.

He didn’t know what to do with the staring, so he went back to his article. It was explaining that Disposables lacked the sensory comprehension to know their own needs or to detect if they were injured. It was a tidy story, he thought, and it explained the little drone’s confusion with his questions earlier. But anything the Functionists put out, he was liable to question, and, well, the little thing didn’t _look_ like it didn’t know it was hurt. It looked scared to tell him.

“Mm, well, I think I should have ordered a half cube for me today,” Rung said, tilting his own cube back and forth. “Don’t think I can finish this. I have a research meeting to go to next, but I’ll be back in the evening. If you need any fuel, you can finish this up.” He set it on the ground. Then he went to the console and unwound the direct link cable. “I wanted an assistant to help me manage my patient records. So sometime while I’m out, hook yourself up to the console and get familiar with the storage topology.”

The drone looked between the half cube on the ground and the linkup cable and then nodded to show its understanding.

“Good. I’ll see you when I get back, then.”

 

It was dark by the time that research meeting had finished. He was never taking on a project with six collaborators ever again, the mindless nitpicking and conferencing was going to drive him mad. And the whole time he’d spent turning over the problem of the little disposable, becoming increasingly unsure what was fact and what was Functionist propaganda.

When had he first heard of disposables, anyway? They hadn’t been around when he was forged, or had they just never entered his social sphere? He hurried back as quick as he could, which was fairly slowly. His joints and transformation seams were acting up again after those long hours sitting. The backpack seemed excruciatingly heavy compared to its normal weight, but he was in public, he reminded himself. It stayed on in public.

When he got back to the office, he realized he’d left the lights out and that in the absence of daylight it had grown dark indeed. In fact, all he could see when he walked in was the glow of the drone’s optics and biolights, and the glow of text on the console.

He flicked on the lights and wandered over. On the screen, the words / _Hello, Rung. It’s a pleasure to meet you._ / glowed bright. He followed the linking cable to the port in the drone’s helm, where it sat watching him. He looked back and forth between the console and the drone. This _was not possible_.

“Hello?” He said. “Are you speaking to me through the screen?”

/ _Yes. I am sorry for the presumption. I have damaged none of your files._ /

“Oh no, I’m not upset, this is,” he struggled for the words, “impossible. But marvelous. You don’t speak!”

/ _My_ _vocoder_ _is not able to make the sounds necessary to communicate in standard Cybertronian._ / The text flashed on the screen and then disappeared. / _I speak. You do not understand._ /

As if in demonstration, the drone chirped and clicked softly in a stream of apparently meaningless chatter.

“Oh.” Rung said. Not only did it speak, it spoke quite well. “Do you have a designation?”

It did not move and the text did not change for several moments. It reached out and lifted the empty cube Rung had given it earlier that day, looking at him with its head cocked.

Then finally, the text appeared. / _I am Rewind, of Lower Petrohex. I_ _am placing_ _myself at your mercy with this information. Please do not send me back to the Functionists for disposal._ /

Rung recoiled. “Whatever for?”

/ _We_ _am not what they wish to make of_ _us_ _. Speaking to the higher classes is forbidden. I judged that you were kind. Please._ /

“I am certainly not going to give anyone to the Functionists for 'disposal’, whatever that might mean.” It occurred to him that he’d heard of 'disposables’ for years and never bothered to wonder how that name had come to be. “I think this conversation should be continued, however, somewhere less public. Come back to my apartment with me?”

It was a slow journey. Rung didn’t want to take the auto-car with Rewind with him, so they stuck to the pedestrian walkways. Rung was slow from the pain in his hips and Rewind seemed to have trouble walking, but Rung was unable to ask him why. He made a note to himself to have Rewind teach him a few essentials in that clicking language of his so they could communicate without a monitor. Then he caught himself, already planning for an uncertain future. But eventually they made their way up the stairs to Rung’s new apartment. It was a temporary lease - he expected that soon there would be a new ship and he’d have to leave this apartment behind - but he did love the privacy in this neighborhood.

Once they got inside he flopped into the nearest chair, pointing over at the corner console. “If you want to hook up, the console’s over there,” he said.

Rewind looked at him in obvious concern, then shambled over to the console and sat down on the floor, unspooling the direct link and hooking it up. With his glasses on, Rung could read the text that appeared from across the room.

/ _ARE YOU OKAY??_ /

He nodded. “I’m fine, Rewind. I’m just having a bit of a flareup with an old joint problem. You don’t have to sit on the floor, the chair’s right there. I’m not that much bigger than you, it should be comfortable.”

Rewind got up and sat on the very edge of the chair, teetering a bit. / _Is there anything I can do to help?_ / he asked.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I just need to warm up the oil bath and have a nice soak. There’s not much that works for it, honestly. I developed a tolerance to the sensor-blocks years ago and they don’t do anything for me anymore,” he sighed. “But what about you. I asked you earlier, but are you alright? Medically? You seemed to have trouble on the way over.”

/ _Poor_ _maintenance_ / Rewind said. / _Nothing important._ /

“Why do I have the feeling you’re still glossing this? Rewind, I’m not going to examine you without your consent, but I want to help.”

/ _I’ve been in Alt mode a long time_ / Rewind said, stretching his fingers out one by one. /I _’ve lost a lot of flexibility. And I probably do need to lubricate my joints._ /

“How long is a long time?”

/ _No clue._ / Rewind shrugged, the motion catching and jerking. / _My_ _c_ _hrono broke an even longer time ago._ /

Rung sat back and thought. There really was no medic he could think to go to. He couldn’t remember ever hearing of someone taking a disposable to a medic, maybe to the repairmechs who worked on actual drones? But that felt unclean to even suggest. They were just going to have to do their best alone for now.

“Well, I know a few things about anatomy, spent far too much time around people with medical degrees and no vocal filter. How about we wash down, I’ll give you a look over and then we can both soak in that nice oil bath I’m planning for the evening?”

Rewind ran his hand along the cable linking him to the console, back and forth as he thought.

/ _okay_ /

“We can’t bring the console in there, so we’re going to need to think of an alternate communication strategy. What are some things you might need to tell me?”

/ _Stop._ / Rewind held up a hand in a clear indication of 'stop’, and gave three low clicks. Rung nodded to signify his understanding. / _Yes and no we can cover with nodding._ /

“Okay. What about something to signify something that isn’t important to you and you want me to leave for later, versus something that is very important?”

Rewind thought for a moment, then stretched his arms wide and made a high beep noise, like an alarm going off. / _Important._ / He brought his hands in front of his body and waved as if he was shooing off a stray turbofox. / _Unimportant._ /

“Okay. Do you want to do this now? It’s not as if we’re pressed for time. I think I’m going to take tomorrow off work so we have more time to get settled.”

/ _you’re in pain. you don’t have to wait for me._ /

“But are you _comfortable_? We just met. You know nearly nothing about me and I’m asking you to trust me a great deal.”

/ _You’re a therapist. Your name is Rung. You’re old._ / Rung spluttered as the words flashed on the screen and Rewind jerked his head in an unmistakabe silent laugh. / _You are! You’re even older than me. You must be good at your job, because you’ve gotten to go to space, multiple times. Your alt mode is…I’m not sure you have one. The thing on your back is not part of you._ /

“I have an alt mode. It just doesn’t do anything,” Rung admitted. “The Functionists weren’t happy about that.”

/ _So you’re one of a kind? Doesn’t that make you valuable to them?_ /

“I’m one of a kind and useless. They sort of cancel each other out,” Rung said.

Rewind got up and unplugged from the console, then walked over to Rung. He pointed at Rung, then stretched his arms out wide and beeped. He nodded fiercely, then repeated the gesture.

“I know, Rewind,” Rung said, surprised to see his glasses cloud as his optics began to spark. “I know they’re wrong. Give me a hand up?”

It wasn’t that nice of an apartment, honestly. There was only a single room for the habsuite, only a single recharge berth and the two chairs they were sitting in. It was far too small to entertain in, if he’d had any friends to invite over. The commute was long and the stairs up to the apartment were more numerous than he would have liked. He’d selected the place solely on the basis of it’s washroom, which contained a built-in oil bath with a heater. It was luxurious beyond measure.

There was also a plain wash area with a bench, which is where they went first. Rung fetched out his wash bucket and the med kit and the lubricants he kept squirreled away in the various cupboards of the washroom. It, like him, had a goodly number of secret compartments to its name.

He had Rewind lean back to get a good angle for the gentle solvent spray to flush under his plating. It washed black crud and a worrying trace of red rust onto the floor and down the drain. Rung didn’t comment on it, moving onto lifting plating around the joints to flush, clean and relubricate around the joints. Rewind made a pleased humming noise when he moved onto straightening and testing tension on the motivator cables. “This okay?” Rung asked, checking in again. Rewind nodded enthusiastically.

Rewind didn’t look to be in too bad shape, really. A few dents that were pretty easy to pop back into place. Nothing major, just neglect and lack of maintenance, like he’d said. The cables would hopefully stretch back into the right tension over time as Rewind was more active. But before they could both get into the oil bath that was beginning to steam up the washroom, Rung needed to check over the major systems.

“I need to make sure your chassis is sealed correctly, otherwise we could end up flooding your chest cavity with oil,” he explained. Rewind guided him to the right tools to open him up, the chassis not designed for access. Inside, he could see the fragile glow of Rewind’s spark, naked to the eye. He shuddered. Some things _shouldn’t_ be so accessible. Keeping his eyes to his work, he carefully cleaned around the edge of the casing and wiped down the seal on the chassis itself. He knew that low quality fuel could cause fuel pump malfunctions, but he had no idea how you checked for that sort of thing, so they just put everything back together the way it had come apart.

Rewind got to his feet, perhaps a little easier than he had before, and offered a hand up to Rung, who admitted it had been growing more and more difficult to keep steady on the tools. Rewind led him over to the oil bath, dipping a hand in to test the temperature before guiding Rung down the steps to sit on the little bench within. The nice thing about being smaller, the oil rose up above his shouders when he sat, letting the whole of him soak in the warmth. Rewind followed him in, chittering with obvious delight. He was just a bit shorter than Rung and ended up having to curl up on his lap to keep his chin above the surface of the oil once he sat down. The little mech sat there and listened to Rung talk, mostly about himself. Eventually he ran out of things that were easy to say and drifted into silence. When he looked over, Rewind had slipped off into rechange, head nestled on his shoulder.

He let himself soak for another hour, head full of unanswerable questions. What were they going to do? How much of what he knew about disposables was utter rubbish? Was there some way he could bring Rewind along on his next ship assignment? If not, who could take him? But even a good panic couldn’t put off recharge forever. Eventually he had to get out of the oil and wipe them down, Rewind rousing himself a bit to follow him sleepily over to the berth in the other room.

“Do you need anything tonight?” Rung asked quietly, but Rewind shook his head. Rung tried to give Rewind as much space as he could on the berth, sized for a larger mech but still small for two. But Rewind just inched closer and curled up with his back pressed to Rung’s side.

 

* * *

 

**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

“I cannot believe you talked me into this. The stairs are very safe, you know,” Rung said over his shoulder, looking at the pedestrian slide that loomed in front of him. They’d installed the slides for the upper crust and the messenger bots of Iacon to use years ago, but Rung had never felt tempted to risk life and limb to avoid a bit of walking.

Rewind stood behind him, demurely, pretending he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He was in public 'disposables do not engage in banter’ mode, which he switched into perpetually in public, even when there was nobody about. He did say something very quietly in clickspeak that sounded suspiciously like, “So you don’t care about the systematic inequality in Iacon?”

“Sir, the slides are only for people in approved functional classes,” the patrolling officers said, noticing them standing by the entrance. “Your drone would not be permitted inside, regardless of your classification.”

“Oh no, officer, I was just admiring the view,” Rung said, sweeping an arm out over the bustling metropolis below them. “Short legs, I take a lot of breaks while walking.”

The officer nodded. “Well, just a reminder, citizen.” He turned and began patrolling back to the other side of the platform.

The moment his back was turned, Rewind reached over and pulled one of the slide-pads off he stack. Rung shook his head at him emphatically. Rewind nodded back and signed back 'frag the police’. A phrase which was clearly understandable with even a passing understanding of hand signs. Also: incredibly vulgar. Rung looked around frantically, but nobody had seen. The officer was still walking the other way.

Rewind sat down on the pad and waved Rung over. He couldn’t. What if they got in trouble? But right now it looked like it was all Rewind’s idea and that was even worse. What if _he_ got in trouble? He looked again, the officer had reached the other slide and was beginning to turn around.

He sat down behind Rewind and wrapped both arms around him to keep them both on the slide-pad. Rewind used his arms to gently guide them forwards.

“What are you doing? Get back here!” The officer yelled, breaking into a jog. Rewind pushed them forward and they began to slide of their own accord. “You know you’re not allowed in there! Don’t you dare slide down that slide, get back here!”

They were beginning to pick up speed and the officer’s voice was growing quieter. But Rung did his best to respond. “I’m sorry sir! We seem to be sliding already, can’t stooooooooooooop-

 

* * *

 

**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

The apartment was tiny and full of haphazard piles of boxes, which appeared to be full of various body parts, sorted by category and size. The only clear space was the berth used for surgery and the walkway between that and the door.

"You are sure you can do this?” Rung asked, clumsily sounding it out in click. Rewind was teaching him, but it was _hard_ learning a new language at his age. All the sounds caught in his vocalizer and came out wrong.

But the theodolite who ran the operation enforced a 'no Neo-cybex’ policy when it came to discussing them breaking the law, which was probably smart. Not very helpful in this case, since Rewind ended up having to correct and repeat everything Rung said.

The theodolite looked over at him, hands on his hips. “I am no doctor. But I would not offer services I could not provide.”

“It’s fine, Rung,” Rewind said, catching his hand and squeezing. “I’ll be fine.”

Fuel pump failure was very treatable, he reminded himself. Very treatable. Transplants took easily and recovery was quick. He looked around the room at its morbid smorgasborg of body parts. This mech knew what he was doing, he was willing to do this surgery, he was their only choice.

“I am sorry. Please continue,” Rung said, kneeling back down to sit by Rewind.

“It is fine. You are nervous,” the theodolite, who had refused to give a name, said. “Careful, this will spark.”

Rung turned his head away from the glare of the welding tool.

 

* * *

 

**SEVERAL YEARS LATER**

“Rewind, I don’t think anybody wants me here,” Rung said, trailing after his friend as he lead a winding path through the service corridors of the university.

“Nonesense,” Rewind said. “You are as much a victim of the functionalists as the rest of us. You deserve a space at the table.” He knocked twice on the dumbwaiter entrance, and it opened to reveal the tiny elevator.

Rewind climbed right in but, when he noticed Rung’s hesitation, scooted back out to sit on the edge. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he said, first in click and then in sign to emphasize the point. “I can go by myself, if you don’t want to go.”

Rung thought about Rewind being caught attending a secret disposables meeting by himself, or about being caught alone on his way back to the apartment with nobody around to make up a cover story for him. “I want to do it,” he said. “But I think I’m going to have to take the backpack off to fit in there.”

They squeezed inside, backpack held between his knees as they descended. The door slid open again in a small store room, filled with disposables. There were at least six memory sticks, two laser pointers, a floodlight, a theodolite and several mechs he couldn’t identify by frametype. They were all shorter than him by at least a head. The chitter of conversation died off as they climbed out.

“Hey everyone,” Rewind said. “This was my friend I was telling you about. His name is Rung of the Pious Pools.” He signed along with the clicking; he’d explained to Rung that there was one deaf member of the group before they’d come.

“Hello Rung,” Several people chorused, looking with curiosity at his backpack as he strapped it back on.

“Welcome to our space of healing,” the floodlight said. “I’m Whiteout and I’ll be leading our discussion for today. I think that’s everyone, so would we like to go around the room and introduce ourselves, say how things have been going these past few cycles? Remember to sign as you speak and make sure Flashpoint can see you.”

 

* * *

**SOME TIME LATER**

 

“How dare they!” Rewind hissed, stomping over to Rung. “How dare they?” He ghosted his hand over the surgical scar on Rung’s hip, frame quivering with anger. Rung reached up to pull him forward into a gentle hug, foreheads touching.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you,” he said, so tired he switched back to Neo-Cybex halfway through the sentence.

“I was so scared,” Rewind said. “You were gone for days. I couldn’t leave the apartment and there was no way to find out what was happening.”

“They had another _idea_ for what I could be,” Rung said. “They were wrong.”

“Wait here, I’ll get you something to drink,” Rewind said with forced lightness, walking over to the store cubboard and pouring out a full cube. Rung thought about what supplies he’d had lying around before the Functionists had grabbed him out of that research meeting. Not enough that there should have been a whole cube left. Rewind met his gaze and glared, daring him to say anything.

Rung didn’t, too hungry to care. “I’ll go out and get more, right away,” he promised.

“You just got back,” Rewind said. “You look dead on your feet. Recharge, let me see to that hip, take the day off work for tomorrow and we’ll go shopping together. I already sent in an memo using your credentials informing them you would be off for the foreseeable future due to 'a required conference with the functionist council.’ I can wait.”

Rung let Rewind guide him over to the berth with gentle nudges. This wasn’t so bad, really. Two fresh welds and a tension headache brought about by exhaustion was the most whole he’d ever felt walking out of a Functionist 'examination’. And he’d never had someone waiting at the door for him before, or someone to push him to refuel and recharge and to curl up next to him and protectively smooth over his transformation seams like he could push all the bad things out. All in all, this wasn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

**TOO SOON**

Rung stared at the memo in horror. In the other room he could hear the spray of solvent as Rewind washed up for the night. They’d planned to watch an education vid on documentary filmmaking, Rewind’s latest obsession. This was going to ruin everything.

They’d denied his request. He had orders to board in six cycles, but he’d thought Rewind could…they would have to figure out something. He got out his list of contacts and started reviewing them with renewed scrutiny. This was always a possibility, but the lineup shifted as time went by. Who could he trust to keep Rewind safe? _To see him as a peer?_ Maybe that was too much to ask, but the first one was paramount.

Minimus Ambus had mentioned his older brother had been seeking another memory stick for his scientific work. Minimus had a level head, though he hadn’t ever met Dominus himself. And he had a small cohort of disposables, Rewind would need a community if he had access to the support group cut off…

“What are you thinking about, Doc?” Rewind said, shuffling out to peer over his shoulder. “You look sad.”

He cut the screen before Rewind could read it. “I am sad. Something has happened and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. But I’m going to do everything in my power to do right by you.”

“Oh, Rung,” Rewind said. “They’re not letting me on the ship, are they?”

 

* * *

 

**MANY (MANY) YEARS LATER**

“Well, I think we should be able to fix up the damage in a few hours once we get the repair drones in here,” the bulky mech blocking his doorway was explaining. Rung itched to push past him and check on his models, on the patient records, really the only things that mattered. It wasn’t as if he was attached to the _room_ for Primus’s sake, they just moved in! “What was your name again, for the record? Rong, right?” The mech asked.

Rung sighed and adjusted his glasses. This again.

“It’s Rung, actually,” someone said from behind him. “I can spell it for you, if you like.”

He turned his head and there was Rewind, halfway down the hallway. He gave a little wave when he noticed Rung had seen him.

“Rung, okay, got it. Do you have anything important in the room-”

“Just give us five kliks to box up his stuff, okay?” Rewind said, gesturing for the repairmech to move out of the way.

“And then we’ll get out from underfoot,” Rung added with his best winning smile.

“Ah, alright. No problem. Rung, alright. I’ll be back in a bit to start work. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He shuffled off, leaving the pair alone by the pile of scrap that used to be Rung’s door and the wreck that was his office.

Rung ignored that for a moment, along with the insistent itch to check on his models. “Rewind! You should have told me you were going to be on the Lost Light!” He pulled the bot in for a hug.

“That goes double for you,” Rewind said with a laugh. “I didn’t think they’d _let_ you go gallivanting off on this kind of mission. But they got Ratchet somehow or another, so I guess it was a free for all.”

“How have you been? Whatever happened to your mech, it was Tumbler, wasn’t it?”

“Conjunx now,” Rewind said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “And he mostly goes by Chromedome. I meant to send you message but I couldn’t find your number in the directory, and then it slipped my mind with everything that happened on Kimia.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I’m just happy for you. Conjunx Endura? You will have to introduce me at some point.”

“Come on, we need to box up your stuff before big and clumsy gets back here ready to fix this place up,” Rewind said, pulling away from the hug at last. They picked their way over the rubble to the partially collapsing shelves and began rescuing models to fit back in the boxes.

“I should have asked earlier,” Rewind said once it was all boxed up. “Are you okay? You did just nearly die.”

Rung looked around the room. “Nothing new under the sun. I think I’m okay.” He looked down at his hands, then looked back at Rewind. “I should have a talk with the Captain, though. His plan was unacceptably reckless. If it had been a different member of the crew-”

“Aw, come on Rung. We’d gotten through this. Give me the smaller box to carry, we can stash them in my habsuite while you wait. If something is unacceptable if done to somebody else, it’s unacceptable if done to you.”

Rung paused at the edge of the doorway, hefting the box of data slugs higher so he didn’t lose his grip. Rewind stopped too and turned to look at him.

“I missed you,” Rung admitted. “I’ve been a bit…solitary since I was with you.”

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” Rewind said. “Up until the point where Rodimus gets us all killed.”

“I’m glad to see that time and love and the end of the war have done nothing to change your morbid sense of humor.”

“You think I’m joking? We’re going to last a month, tops. We’d better make it worth our while. Do you think we could convince Rodimus to install a slide in the rec room?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you caught any mistakes on your way through, feel free to let me know (no beta on these). I know it feels like it could be longer, but I hadn't really planned to write this at all and it kept getting longer and longer. I had to put a stop to it eventually.
> 
> I'm over on tumblr at [ notwhelmedyet](http://notwhelmedyet.tumblr.com/), having mtmte feelings and very slowly rereading. I'm not starting Lost Light till I'm done rereading, so please no comments related to it. Other than that, I adore all comments.


End file.
